Collapse
by Anansay
Summary: [GSR] - Sara's sick and Grissom's there.


**TITLE: **Collapse  
**AUTHOR: **Anansay  
**SUMMARY: **Sara's sick and Grissom is there.  
**SPOILER: **None.  
**RATING: **PG-13  
**DISCLAIMER: **Characters are not mine. 

~*~ **Collapse** _By Anansay  
December 31, 2003 _~*~

The days were passing slowly, the ticking of the clock the only sound in the room. It was enough. Enough of a sound to keep her aware, to keep her grounded in time and space. Her body resounded with each sound, each ticking, taking it in as though it were her own heart beat. An external life sustainer. 

The camphor fumes from the lozenge hit her throat with a vice-like grip and her eyes began to burn and water. She blinked and swallowed, absorbing the initial impact and settling her body for a newfound sensation of aliveness. She experienced rather than felt her entire body suddenly zinging with energy, it was like being zapped with electricity the way her muscles tensed and vibrated, every sense becoming tightly tuned into to every impression that came her way. The room seemed clearer, objects standing out in sharp relief against each other, colours were vibrant and textures were more substantial. Sounds became piercing and clear; smells were distinct. 

She took a deep breath and it was like adding another dose to her already flooded senses and her body shuddered under the sudden impact before once against settling into a new rhythm.

"Sara..."

She heard her name but it went over her like a quiet wind, barely acknowledged. 

"Sara!"

The noise hit her and her body jerked as she spun around to glare at the intruder. Grissom stood by the door, his eyes on her with a steady glare. 

"What?" 

His stance, though not wholly unusual given their rapidly decaying relationship, made her feel suddenly quite vulnerable and exposed. She stood up with tweezers in one hand and bag in the other. Face to face and eye to eye, she stared at him waiting for the chastisement about yet another thing. 

He'd watched her move, watched her come to a standing position, his eyes following her body and now they were back to her eyes. But he said nothing, just stared. She could see things moving behind his eyes, gears shifting axle's to a different demeanour. And his voice attacked her from another angle, one of softness and concern. "Are you okay?" 

She blinked. "What, of course I'm okay. Why do you ask?"

He looked at her hand pointedly. She held it up in front of her and saw what he'd seen. 

Her hand was shaking. Just a bit mind you, but enough to warrant some degree of worry on even Sara's part. She stared at her hand as though it might suddenly start speaking and tell the story of why it was shaking. She let it drop and met Grissom's gaze with a confused one of her own. "Uh, I'm just not feeling well. Probably a cold or something." 

"Do you want to go home?" And once again his voice played havoc with her well grounded resolve to remain as stoic as possible around him. 

"No. I'm fine. I'm sure it'll pass."

"Sara, if you're not feeling well, evidence could be compromised..."

__

Evidence... "I'm fine, Grissom." With hard eyes she gave him her back as she returned to work, organizing the evidence. She could still feel him standing by the door, his eyes on her back. And then she was alone, just her and the room and the ticking of the clock. 

~*~

Grissom roamed the halls of CSI, ducking into one room after another, clipboard in hand, searching for a particular coworker. He found her in the breakroom. 

"Sara?" he said as he caught sight of her slumped form on the table. 

She didn't stir. 

He moved forward slowly, watching her body move just slightly under her shallow breathing. He leaned over her and saw the papers strewn about, some haphazard order to the chaos. A pen was still clutched in her hand and on a paper was a half-finished word: _comp-. _

A shiver slithered down Grissom's spine. It wasn't like Sara to just fall asleep. She regularly went far beyond the ordinary shift's hours and it was only halfway through this shift. 

"Sara," he called again, this time by her ear. 

She still didn't move. 

Steeling himself against the onslaught he knew would come, he placed his hand on her back and began to shake her as gently as possible, not wanting to startle her too much. And the onslaught came, in the form of his body's strong reaction to simply touching her torpid form. 

Finally a barely audible groan could be heard and she started to move. First her head turned on her arm, hiding her face for a moment before it came up. She blinked a few times and then sat up. Grissom took his hand back and watched her come to. 

She leaned back in her chair, looking around herself slowly, her eyes traveling all over, acclimating herself to her surroundings. 

"Sara?" he called again for the third time, worry tingeing his voice. 

"Wha-?" she turned her head around and gazed up at Grissom. Her eyes were glassy and dull, missing that vital link that made her Sara. 

"Are you okay?" Grissom sat down beside her. 

In slow motion Sara looked around herself again before coming back to Grissom. "I think so. What happened?"

"I don't know. You were sleeping when I came in." He glanced down at the papers. "You were working... in the middle of a word..."

Sara followed his gaze and picked up a paper, her eyes scanning over her words. When she got to the half-finished word her eyes grew bigger and then she squinted in thought. "I don't remember. I was writing up a preliminary report and then... I can't remember." 

Grissom touched her arm, and then moved his hand to her forehead. "You're warm. Fever."

"I do?" she said, touching her own forehead, her hand brushing against Grissom's before he could take it away. 

"You should go home, Sara. I can't have you passing out at crime scenes."

"I'm fine," she said as her arms wrapped around her body as she began to shake. 

"No. You're shivering now. You're sick, you need to rest. Come on, I'll take you home." He stood up and went to take her elbow, his other arm coming around her shoulders. 

Sara pulled back sharply. "I'm fine Grissom!"

"Sara, you're not. Now let's go. I'm officially sending you home. Now." 

She looked up at him. "You can't do that."

"Yes I can, and I just did. Now let's go."

"Grissom..." she tried to protest once more but he merely grabbed her body and hauled her to her feet, holding her against his own body. 

It took everything in him not to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight to him. As it were, he merely held her up and began moving toward the doorway, his arm loosely around her. He told himself sternly that there was nothing intimate about it, he'd have done this with anyone, _including _Nick or Warrick. It was just one friend taking care of another. 

A friend. That's right, a friend he told himself. 

They walked down the hallway and Grissom could feel Sara's loose footsteps and how her body would sway against his every now and then. So he kept his arm around her and held her to him. 

When they got to the locker room, Sara's body suddenly felt much heavier and before he knew it, she was going down to the floor, sliding along his body as her legs gave out and her head fell back. It was all Grissom could do not to go down with her as he braced himself against the wall and prayed his legs wouldn't give out. 

Grissom crouched on the floor beside her body, his mind wracking through all he'd heard about a flu that was going around and knocking people out, literally. He felt her head and realized her fever had just shot up and the shivering had increased to shakes. Her head lolled from side to side as more moans could be heard. 

"What the-" came a voice from behind him and he looked up to see Nick's worried face staring down. 

"Nick! Help me, she passed out. We have to get her home." 

With Nick's help Grissom was able to get her to her feet and then he did something that surprised both men - and would have shocked Sara had she been lucid. He picked her up and carried her in his arms as he headed for the doors. 

"Grab her stuff Nick and meet me at my car," he hollered back. 

With Sara slumped in the back seat, made as comfortable as possible in such a cramped space, and her stuff on the seat beside him, Grissom pulled out and headed along a familiar route to Sara's place. 

Forsaking traffic safety he'd angled his mirror to catch glimpses of her body, making sure she was still on the seat, still breathing. Nick had grabbed a blanket and it covered most of her body. She never moved through the entire twenty-minute drive and it only served to heighten Grissom's anxiety. 

Grissom shut the engine off and came around to the passenger door. Sara was curled up beneath the blanket, her teeth clattering but her eyes closed. He called to her again, hoping that she could hear him through her fever and began to pick her up, holding her against his body as he adjusted her weight and began to climb the stairs. 

Fishing her keys from his pocket he managed to open her door and stumbled inside, kicking it closed behind him. It was dark in her apartment and there was no light switch he could reach. Within moments his eyes had adjusted and he could see the faint outline of a doorway just beyond her living room and he headed for it. 

A large bed greeted him and he gently lowered Sara onto the crumpled sheets, at once taking in a scent stronger than he'd ever smelled. This was the room where she slept, where her most intimate moments happened. Her bed was unmade, a sign of her either having come into work in a rush or a deliberate oversight on her part. 

Whatever it was didn't matter now. All that mattered was that Sara was sick and she wasn't waking up. He noted her tight jeans and short sleeved shirt and decided looser, warmer clothes were in order. Flicking on the lamp by her bedside, he had a moment to grin when he saw the same magazine on her nightstand as rested on his own. And it was opened to the same article. 

Grissom opened her closet doors and had a moment of panic as he thought about what Sara would think and feel about him going through her personal belongings. But this was different; she was in no form to do it herself. Another thought occurred to him why _he _was here and not someone else, someone closer to her. He'd just ordered Nick to help him with no thought as to what Sara would have preferred. He'd just... _assumed. _

Well he was here and he was going to help, whether she wanted him to or not. With that matter settled he began rummaging through her clothes, refusing to stop at certain more alluring outfits, refusing to imagine them on her body. 

He found some thick flannel pajamas in her drawers. He turned to her body, now nestled on her side and swallowed hard. How was he going to change her clothes and keep her dignity intact? 

He was a doctor, an entomologist but a doctor all the same. He'd simply use that mindset as he pulled off each article of clothing. Starting with her shirt, he gently eased it off her body, maneuvering her arms to facilitate removal. Sara moaned and Grissom paused. 

"Sara, we need to get you warm," he whispered to her, trying to find some way to get a consent from her. "We have to get you out of these clothes. Come on honey, help me out now. Let me do this." He continued talking to her in low tones, letting her know exactly what he was doing and why and in no time she was dressed, snug and warm and covered in her blankets. 

He'd actually managed to dress Sara and not lose his mind at seeing her naked for the first time. His body had barely responded, scolded as it were to behave in this moment of actual stress. 

Disappearing in the bathroom, he emerged with a basin of cool water and a cloth. The basin went on her nightstand, her magazine he placed on her dresser, and the cloth in the water. He wrung it out and placed it on her forehead. She moaned and tried to move away but he just followed her movements. It was all he could do. He'd dressed her warmly to keep the chills at bay and now he tried to lower her fever. She needed to rest. It was all she could do. 

Sara was clawing her way through hot coals and ice cubes, trying to find her way to some middle ground, some solace from the burning chills that kept her body under siege. A voice came through the fog, a sweet gentle voice that told her she had to move this way and that and she'd be comfortable. Any kind of actual movement hurt but the voice insisted and it was such a beautiful voice, she could picture blue eyes smiling down at her and she listened to the voice, allowing it to shift her body this way and that, tugging here and pulling there. 

After what seemed a very long while, there was no more movement and the voice went away. She whimpered for the voice to come back but it didn't. And then the ice cubes went away and the coals simmered down to a tolerable heat and she allowed herself to float away, lulled by the more consistent temperature. 

Light, dim but there, greeted her sore eyes when she finally opened them. Her body felt icky and sore, every movement heavy and aching. If she didn't know better, she'd swore she was hungover, but no memory came back to her about such an event. And then many thoughts came tumbling through her head: work, DB, alley way, Greg's coffee, paperwork, voices, bitter cold and blistering heat, gentle hands and soothing voices. She turned her head and saw the clock. 7:41 AM. 

She stared at it, the glowing red unchanging, as her mind tried to wrap itself around why she was in bed when she was usually at the lab at this time. With muscles protesting every movement she managed to sit herself up in bed, drawing the covers to her body. 

Her bed. Her nice warm bed and... _pajamas?!_ She stared down at herself, pulling the material from her body as though it had suddenly appeared there. Panic began to seep into her mind as the lack of memories assaulted her, the gap in her mind creating a sense of misplaced existence. She looked around herself and noted that everything in her room was as she had remembered. Except her closet doors were open, as was a drawer. Likely if she'd gotten herself dressed, but she hadn't. 

And then she noticed the one thing out of place in her room. At the far corner, hidden in shadows from her window, slumped a large form. She stared hard at it, trying to get the fuzz from her mind and make it into a shape she could recognize.

And then it moved and she gasped. 

In the light from her lamp she saw two eyes blinking heavily as they stared at her. And then the form leaned forward and a head of grey came into view. 

"Grissom?"

"You're awake," he said, rising and coming to her bedside. 

"I am. What are you doing here? In my bedroom and... where are my clothes?"

Grissom swallowed and ran a hand through his hair before looking at her again. "You were sick. You passed out in the breakroom. I brought you home and... changed your clothes."

"You changed me?" Her eyes were wide now as she realized what that meant, exactly. "You saw me _naked_?"

Grissom looked away. "Well... yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you need water, or something?" he said as he touched her forehead. "Not so hot anymore, that's good."

Sara let him touch her, too shocked to really react, as she stared at him. "Yeah, water, that'd be nice, Grissom--"

"I'll be right back," he said and left the room. 

Sara sat on her bed and pondered this very odd situation. Grissom was in her house, in her _bedroom _and he had undressed but not really seen her naked and she had apparently passed out at work. She heard him rummaging in her kitchen and then the water running. It was odd to hear sounds in her apartment when she wasn't making them. A feeling of deep nostalgia stole over her when she saw the basin on her nightstand. She stared at the clock again and realized it had been almost five hours since work. Her body felt clammy and icky and her mind had trouble keeping hold of thoughts as they skittered just out of range. It was an awful feeling. 

Grissom came back with a glass of water and helped her drink it, ignoring the jolt in his body as her fingers wrapped around his. Her eyes met and held his as she sipped at her water. 

"Now, tell me," she said, sitting back against the wall. 

Grissom shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a doctor. You were my patient. I did what needed to be done to make sure you were okay. I undressed you and put on some warmer clothes and that was it."

"That was it?"

"Yes." He sighed. "Sara, I did not 'ogle' your body. I wouldn't do that. It was purely... professional. I'm a doctor."

Her eyebrow raised. "But I'm not a bug."

"No. You're not a bug. But--"

"Grissom... Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did _you _bring me home? Why not Catherine? She's a woman, it would have been better..."

"I don't know. You passed out on me and I just-"

"Wait, I passed out on you?! I thought you said I was in the breakroom?"

"Both. I found you in the breakroom and when we were heading to the locker room, you passed out again. So I brought you home. You needed to rest." 

Sara just stared at Grissom, seeing something that she never thought she'd see. He looked tired, haggard and worn out. But there was something else. A fear in his eyes and a desperation. In her muddled state she couldn't process their meanings. 

"Thank you," she said. She didn't know what else to say. This man, who had barely spoken to her in months and barely acknowledged her very existence had just put himself out in a major way to make sure that she was alright. Maybe he really did care, in some strange way. 

"It was the least I could do."

"Grissom..." His name came out before a thought even formed as to what she wanted to say. 

He looked at her expectantly and when she said nothing he sighed, but kept his eyes on her. They were sad eyes, as though on the verge of giving up. In her state of feverish delusions she saw a man yearning to be cared for in as much the same way as he had done for her. 

An urge hit Sara and she responded without thinking as she brought her hand up and touched Grissom's cheek. The beard was still new to her, hiding his face as it was, but the softness and feel of it against her palm made it more real and more... acceptable. He stared at her, a myriad of emotions flickering through his eyes; pleading, fear, anxiety, sadness and a faint glimmer of hope. But maybe that last one was merely a figment of her feverish imagination. 

"Sara," he said as his eyes closed and he leaned into her hand. 

A shock wave passed through Sara at his sudden candid affection. This was so much more than she'd ever thought she'd get. It was merely an urge to touch him, not a hope that he'd respond. But he did and he still was. 

And she realized that work would have been over then by then. 

"You're tired, Grissom. That chair isn't too comfortable." His eyes came open and the rawness she saw in them stole any more rational thoughts from her mind. "Why don't you lay down," she said patting the space next to her. 

He looked down at her hand and then back up at her. "I... I don't know."

"Just lay down, Grissom. You need it. All I ask is you take off your shoes," she said with a smile.

It seemed to work. He kicked his shoes off and lay down on the covers beside her. 

"I've always found it weird, even when I have on enough clothes, to lay down _on top _of the covers," Sara said. 

Grissom shrugged his shoulders, his eyes already closing. 

"Grissom, get under the covers. This is ridiculous." Sara tugged on the blankets. 

"Sara, I'm fine."

"Well, I'm not. I need my blankets." 

With a heavy sigh, Grissom shifted and brought the blankets out from beneath him and allowed her to cover them. "I thought I was the one supposed to take care of you," he mumbled as he turned on his side. 

"Tit for tat, now sleep," Sara said just before exhaustion overtook her body. 

Grissom awoke from dreams of strange lulling warmth and sweet sensual scents to something very similar. A peculiar warmth was pressed to his chest and he had his arm wrapped around it. The warmth extended down to his legs and for a moment he thought he might have curled up against a soft pipe of some sort but when he moved his head his face was tickled by a mass of hair. Hair that smelled familiar and which had haunted his dreams on many nights. The images came back and he moaned into the hair. 

And then the thing against him moved, pressed more firmly into him and his eyes shot open. It was flesh, a woman's flesh. And these weren't his sheets. Or his bed. 

He lifted his head and peered over the hair to the face and sucked in his breath as the memories came back to him: Sara sick, passed out, naked body in between changes of clothes, her hand on his face. 

He was in bed with Sara. Fully clothed but still in the same bed. The heat from her body was searing through both her clothes and his. The faint memory of her fever was shadowed behind the now very strong sensation of her body pressed close to his. He fought the automatic urge to pull her in closer and start nuzzling her neck, opting instead to pull away and try to get out of bed. But she groaned and her arm swung around to grab him by his buttocks and pull him closer again. His body tensed as her hand began to massage his cheek and she started to moan and move against him. 

When he heard his name whispered on her lips, he thought he'd really lose it this time. His own eyes closed and he murmured her name, feeling his hips beginning to move, his hand beginning a trek upward toward her- 

His body stilled as he struggled to come back to reality. Sara was sick, she had a fever, she wasn't aware of her actions. He should never have crawled into bed with her in the first place. What _was _he thinking?! Obviously, he wasn't. 

When her hand began to move along his hip toward his groin, he whispered her name, hoping to wake her before she - she made it. Her hand was on him and his eyes closed as the delicious sensations coursed through his body. She was stroking him through his pants, her long fingers wrapping around his growing hardness and he fought to keep that small measure of control. He pulled his arm from around her waist and gently removed her hand from his organ. She resisted, "No, Grissom..." as she tried to find him again. 

"Sara," he whispered in her ear. 

She moaned and brought her hand to her chest, curling herself into a ball, taking much (of) her heat away from him. He rolled onto his back, one hand flung up to cover his eyes as he willed his body to settle down and relax. It listened, begrudgingly. He rolled over and sat up, rubbing his eyes to clear his head. Turning around, he pulled the blankets up to cover her and then left the room, seeking out her bathroom. 

~*~

Sara wakened to find herself alone in a bed that suddenly seemed too big and lonely. The covers on the other side had been neatly pulled up but it left a cold emptiness not only in the bed but in her heart as well

She knew he'd joined her and now she lay alone, in a cold bed, staring at the ceiling. Only the basin by her bed offered some small solace in that confusing time. He'd been there, and now he wasn't.

Her body objected to any kind of movement but it also called out for a certain relief that required the use of a toilet. So she wrapped the blanket around her aching body and headed to the bathroom. 

Sara found Grissom on her couch, remote control in hand, head flung back, eyes closed and mouth open. His soft breathing told her he was deep asleep, the television's volume on low. She padded over to him and draped her own blanket on him, allowing her eyes to roam over his face, taking in his relaxed features, wrinkles fading in peacefulness. Although this wasn't how she'd dreamed of waking up with him, it was precious all the same, though she wondered at his being on her couch instead of her bed. She distinctly remembered patting the bed and he crawling in, their little argument about covers and that was it. Though it was all she clearly remembered, it was a memory she'd cherish for a long time. 

She went into the kitchen and started the coffee machine. 

When she turned around again he was sitting on the couch staring at her, the blanket draped over his shoulders. With his hair mussed and his eyes glassy from sleep, her heart skipped a beat. He appeared a dazed and confused person with little understanding of his whereabouts. And Sara began to question the entire situation and the varied possibilities of how it could end. 

"You're awake," she said and wrapped the housecoat tighter around her body. 

He nodded. "So are you." He continued to stare at her unblinking. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you." 

He rose from the couch, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders like an ethereal man rising from the fog. "Did you sleep well?" he asked her and she caught the tail end of something off kilter in his voice. When she looked into his eyes, she saw him looking at her intently and she suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. 

"Yeah, did you?"

Grissom looked down. "Yeah, I guess." 

"Strange bed?"

"Strange bed fellow," he said with a smirk. 

Just then the coffee machine sputtered its final drips of coffee and Sara turned to retrieve two glasses from the cupboards. 

"So tell me," Grissom said, "do you dream often?"

Sara's hand stilled with the sugar on the spoon. "What do you mean?"

"Just asking."

Sara poured the sugar and moved around him to the fridge for the milk. "Well, I think you already know that I sometimes have nightmares. Why, was I talking in my sleep?" She poured the milk. 

Grissom bit his lip. "Sort of..."

Sara watched as he adeptly avoided actually talking about what might have happened. She handed him his coffee and risked a glance at him. He wasn't looking at her. "What do you mean, sort of... either I did, or I didn't. What did I say?"

He took the cup from her hands. "You, uh... didn't say anything really." He floundered around for the right way to say it. "You, uh..." He took a sip. 

Sara took her own cup in hand. "I, what?" And then Sara realized what had him so tongued-tied. "Oh," she said and dropped her own gaze into her coffee cup. "Right. Okay." She left the kitchen and sat on the couch, her coffee cup still in hand. 

"Sara..." he followed her. "It's okay I, uh... I'm flattered."

"Oh god... Grissom please, don't go there. I really don't want to _share _that part of my life, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Cause it's rather personal!"

"You said my name."

"I said don't go there!" Sara got up and started pacing, the coffee sloshing dangerously in her cup. 

"Sara, it's okay," he said again. Why was it so hard for him to talk to her? 

She stopped pacing and stared at him. "No. It is _not _okay. My boss drove me home, stripped me, got me dressed, slept in the same bed with me and _heard me have a sex dream about him!! _It is NOT okay!" She stormed down the hallway and slammed her bedroom door. 

Sara sat on her bed, head in her hands and thought of a way, any way, that she could extricate herself from this horrid mess. It all seemed so surreal, having him in her apartment. Maybe it was just part of the fever, maybe it was a just a dream come vividly to life, in her _mind. _Maybe that was it. 

Taking a giant swig of the coffee in the cup, she opened her door and peeked out. The hallway seemed empty and no shadows moved on the floor. Maybe it really was a dream. Maybe she'd just woken up from it. Yeah, that was it. 

She strolled down the hallway and peeked around the corner. Nothing. No one in the kitchen either. Feeling bolder, she stepped into her living room and took a deep breath. 

"Are you okay?" came his voice from the corner. 

She spun around and stared. He was standing in the corner by her bookshelf. 

It wasn't a dream. He was still here. And he knew. 

"Grissom... I thought it was just a dream," she blurted out. 

He came toward her. "No dream. It was real. I heard you."

Sara put her hands on her ears. "I don't want to hear it."

He put his hands on hers and pulled them down. "I want to say it." 

"Why?" she said, practically whining. "Why do you want to say it, to torture me? What did I ever do to you? Look, I'm sorry that I asked you out to dinner. I'll never do it again, just please leave me alone!" Her eyes closed tight. 

"Sara, I dream about you too." 

The words floated over her and into her mind, swirling around in their mass of confusion. 

__

He dreamed... about her... too. 

"What?" she said. 

"I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore--"

Sara groaned. "I knew it. I just knew it. Why do you do that? You string me along only to let me fall!"

"Sara! Stop talking, for once, okay? You're right, you really do overtalk! Now shut up!"

Sara stared at him, shocked at his sudden outburst. She'd never heard him yell at her like that before. Be curt with her sure, shut her down, of course, but to tell her to shut up? Her mind was blank.

Grissom swallowed. He suddenly seemed nervous. "I do dream about you. More times than I care to admit. And this morning... I almost..."

"Almost what?" she whispered. 

"I almost gave in." 

Sara's body had begun to hum along with his words, tiny electrical impulses shooting through her body. His hands on hers seemed to be creating these little bursts along with his words. "Almost?"

"You're sick, Sara. I wasn't going to take advantage of you when you're sick. It was only..."

"Grissom," she said, pulling one hand free to caress his face. Once again, his eyes closed and he leaned into her hand. He seemed so lost, as though seeking somewhere to rest. 

"I'm so sorry. I've pushed you away for too long. I can't do that anymore, Sara. It's... so hard." 

"I know." She pulled his head down and wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her in a close embrace, running her hands along his back, letting him know she understood. He held her tightly, his arms squeezing her with a desperation she never knew existed in him. His hands were all over her, on her back, on her shoulders, in her hair. He couldn't get enough of her, couldn't seem to touch her as much as he wanted to. He moaned into her neck before his lips touched her skin and he began kissing her in earnest as he moved along her skin toward her jaw and her cheek. 

And then he pulled back and stared at her. She saw his eyes roam over her face, saw the fear in them and the want. Then his hands were on her face. "I have to kiss you," he said just before his lips covered hers. She breathed in the scent of him, taking him inside her, inside her body, inside her soul before she opened her mouth and invited him intimately, her tongue seeking and drawing him in. 

Until that moment, Sara had never felt such a desperation, such a longing as was in her body. Even through the fever she recognized the heat surging through her as coming from him, and she pressed herself closer to him, just wanting to feel his entire length pressed against her, pressing into her. It was like coming home, settling down in the chair that had conformed to the body, she molded against him effortlessly. Grissom held her to him, tightly yet with a tenderness that made a single tear course down her cheek. 

Until that moment, Sara never knew what real love felt like as his mouth moved on hers, their tongues intertwined in a primal dance of affection and desire. His heart beat against her chest, its manic rhythm matching hers in tempo, his jagged breathing mimicking hers. Everything he'd ever held back was poured into the kiss, the beginning of an opening to a world only dreamed of and the closure of the chasm that had kept them apart for so long. 

Fears were cast aside in favour of passion, doubts in favour of awareness, inhibitions in favour of ceding to a higher wisdom. It was love that drove them to the lengths they'd been, love that drove them apart and love that finally brought them together. This love that transcended all earthly boundaries, challenged and won over policies and social mores, that allowed them to attain a deeper level of awareness of themselves and each other. This love that brought completion to their existence, that settled in them like an old worn blanket that still offered warmth even on the coldest nights. 

Ever since their paths had linked so long ago, it'd been a journey of hills and valleys, beautiful brightly lit days and cold gloomy nights where no stars could peek through. Now the sun rose, its rosy rays warming nooks and crannies and shooing away the cobwebs and debris of long held-back passions and yearnings. 

Who knew where their paths would lead, who would join them and for how long? But if there was one certainty in life it was that changes were inevitable and loneliness was always an option, never a forced upon state of being. If one had the strength to step forward, one had the strength to open oneself up and accept what others had to give, and to give in return. It was an oft forgotten freedom of choice. 

Grissom had chosen and now had the pleasure of reaping its many rewards as he lay cuddled in the arms of the one whom he felt completed his soul and made his life complete. He stared down at the mussed hair of his lover and a smile crept up on his lips and reached his eyes as his arms drew her body closer to his and found his solace in her presence and her absolute acceptance of and unconditional love for him.

~*~ _...the end..._

Copyright © 2003 Anansay


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